“I don’t know, but she’s not afraid…” There was a ripple of something else coursing through the witch thread, almost untraceable. A tendril of resolution. Of tenacity. “She’s unyielding. Refusing to break.”
“Of course she is,” Rowan scoffed, glancing around the forest. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, his lavender gaze scanning the dense woods. “Alright, High King, we’re here. Now what?”
“I imagine you’re here to see me.” A rough voice scraped through the night air, and Casimir emerged from the edge of the tree line, his hood drawn low over his head. “For why else would the High King of Summer and the Nightweaver be deep within the Autumn Court and not at the palace?”
Tiernan strolled over to him, offering his hand in greeting. They grasped each other’s wrists, and when they released, Tiernan leveled the drakon with a solemn look. “You saved Maeve from Parisa once, I need your assistance in doing so again.”
Casimir shoved his hood back, blanching. He looked between Tiernan and Rowan, his dark gaze flashing in a play of light and shadow. “Parisa has Maeve.”
Rowan nodded. “She does.”
Casimir blew out a low breath, then turned away from them both. He faced the Black Lake, his shoulders dropping slightly. “It will not be easy.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Tiernan’s gaze slid to Rowan, and he nodded in return. “But we cannot leave Maeve there.”
Casimir bowed his head then looked up at the sky, where the stars took the form of constellations older than even the Ancient Ones, where secrets of the before were kept and treasured. “Entering the Spring Court will be easy, getting out will prove farmore difficult. I should be able to hold a fair amount of the dark fae at bay in my drakon form. Like other fae I have encountered in the past, they are no match for fire.”
Tiernan wasn’t entirely sure there was any fae alive that could withstand the strength of drakon fire, but he kept that to himself.
“You understand that once we get Maeve out of Suvarese, we must be ready to attack. There will be no time to wait, no time to celebrate a reunion. Everything must be in place.” Casimir turned back to them, and remorse fell around him like a cloak. “Parisa will not hesitate. Maeve has slipped from her clutches twice already.”
Tiernan steeled his spine into place. Nothing would stop him, nothing would stand in his way. “Then we will prepare for our assault, with or without Brackroth and Wenfyre.”
The druids were still days away with their naval fleet, and he could only pray to the Mother Goddess herself that they would arrive in time. As for Brackroth, Ciara’s promise of their assistance had been rather vague. There was no guarantee they would show, no matter how dire the situation, no matter how desperately Faeven could use a horde of dragons on their side.
Rowan nodded once, his gaze sliding to Casimir. “For Maeve.”
Casimir bowed. “For Maeve.”
Tiernan appreciated them both on a level he couldn’t quite articulate. Perhaps the words would come to him later, perhaps he’d take his final breath before ever speaking them. “I’ll have Merrick inform Ciara and Dorian of our strategy. We will need their forces ready sooner than expected. But in the meantime, I have to return to Niahvess and check on Lir.”
“What happened to your commander?” Casimir asked, pulling his hood back up over his head.
Rowan ran his hand along the back of his neck, toeing his boot through the dirt at their feet. “Parisa took his eye with the intent to hurt Maeve further.”
“Her vengeance knows no bounds,” Casimir mumbled, and though his face was partially visible from beneath his hood, the angular lines of his jaw hardened. “Her quest for power has darkened her soul. She’s a monster now, tainted by the foulness of greed. There was a time, though, when her heart was pure. When love was enough for her.”
“I remember.” Rowan’s voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. “But that was long ago.”
“Indeed,” Casimir agreed. “Long, long ago.”
Silence descended upon them, accompanied only by the breeze sifting through the trees and the occasional call of an owl.
Tiernan cleared his throat. “We meet at dawn.”
“I’ll be there.” Casimir lifted his head and stepped back.
Then Tiernanfadedback to the courtyard of Niahvess as Rowan was engulfed in a surge of shadows.
Tiernan assumed Rowan would retire to his room for the remainder of the night. After all, there were only a few more hours until the sun rose above the mountains to the east. But he found the Nightweaver standing a few feet from him, his gaze focused on the west.
To Suvarese.
He eyed the heir to the Spring Court, and spoke the first thought that entered his mind. “You can’tfade.”
Rowan shifted, stiffening under the scrutiny of his gaze. “No.”
“What happened?” Tiernan asked. “An Archfae doesn’t simply lose that ability overnight.”
